A Nation-tastic Road Trip
by Mr. Saxobeat
Summary: What starts off as a careless comment from Italy ends up as a world wide roadtrip where the nations visit each others' landmarks. Prumano.
1. Chapter 1

Romano loved his brother, honestly. It was just that occasionally he needed to remind himself he did. This was one of those times.

For the past half hour, he had had to watch all the countries kiss Veneziano's ass. He was Italy, too! It wasn't like Veneziano did all the work while he just lazed around. Romano stood up from his seat at the world meeting, his chair making a painful, screeching noise. He had enough.

"Ah, Roma, where are you going?" At least Spain had noticed.

"I'm going to the bathroom, bastard." As South Italy walked out of the room, he was well aware that no one cared, or even noticed. He felt a burning sensation behind his eyes, and he knew his face was probably a burning red by now.

Stomping into the bathroom, he looked at himself. His chestnut colored hair was neat, with the exception of the strange curl that stuck out the side of his head. Romano and Veneziano were twins. They were the representations of the country Italy. From their strange hair curl to the way they dressed, they were identical. So Romano didn't understand why everyone loved Veneziano and ignored him.

Well actually, he did know. Veneziano was a cheerful, naive idiot, whereas he was just a grumpy pessimist that swore in every sentence he spoke. But dammit, it wasn't like it mattered. He was fine as he was. All he needed were his tomatoes, and everyone else could go to hell for all he cared. And he knew it; no one else mattered, but he couldn't stop the tears from leaving his eyes.

There was a noise behind him, and he heard the bathroom door open. A pair of red eyes stared at him through the mirror. Why the fuck was the albino bastard here? He wasn't even a country anymore.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"You know, you're not so cute when your face is blotchy,"

"Fuck you, I'm beautiful." There was a muffled laugh, and Romano turned to see Prussia grinning that obnoxious grin of his. His lips twitched a little, and Romano might have smiled had he not realized that this was Prussia that was talking to him.

"You didn't answer my question, bastard. Why are you here?" Even though Prussia had interrupted his personal sulking time, he appreciated that someone had realized he existed.

"I felt you losers needed some awesome during your boring meeting, so here I am!" Prussia struck a pose.

"Whatever," Romano mumbled, turning back to the sink to wash his face. He splashed the bracing water onto his red rimmed eyes and made himself presentable. It was probably around lunch time now, and his stomach was complaining for something to eat.

Romano marched out of the bathroom heading towards the lunch area. However when he reached the cafeteria, he groaned. He'd forgotten that the meeting was being hosted at England's place, and he decided that he would much rather starve than risk death by food poisoning. He saw Spain and France sitting at a table near the windows, and seeing Spain wave to him, he walked towards him, unsurprised that he was accompanied by Prussia. Spain, France, and Prussia had always stuck to each other like glue, and Romano had no idea how they ever got anything done, considering each one was dumber than the other.

As he slid into his seat, Spain offered him a tomato. Romano raised an eyebrow, but took the fruit anyway.

"I noticed you forgot to bring lunch, and I didn't want my poor tomate to have to eat garbage." Romano nodded his head in thanks and took a bite. Prussia took the seat beside him.

"Francy pants, next time keep the sexual tension between you and England to yourselves," Prussia winked.

"Sexual tension? I thought they hated each other. They always fight during the meetings," Spain commented.

"They just like touching each other, the perverts," Romano added.

"Ah no, mon ami, Eyebrows has his eye on China. Ever since the Opium War," France sighed. "What a waste, China could do so much better," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

France looked like he was in his mid twenties and so did Spain and Prussia. His wavy honey blond hair reached his shoulders, and he had blue eyes that Romano swore could stare into a person's soul. They made him uncomfortable, and France's flamboyant personality didn't help much. He had a few scraggly hairs on his chin, which he believed made him more "manly." He slept with everyone that he believed was beautiful and accepted his affections. He treated them like royalty while they were together, but no one could hold his attention for long.

Spain had a healthy tan that showed off his leaf green eyes. His well toned arms gave him the aura of someone that worked out in the sun. He had a permanent smile on his face, his white teeth contrasting with his dark skin. He was a complete airhead and was almost always seen with a dazed look in his eyes. Women were attracted to him, but he was too dense to ever notice their affections.

Prussia was 'fucking awesome' as he liked to put it himself. Honestly, Romano thought of him as more of an overconfident douchebag. Sure when he wasn't being completely annoying, sometimes (sometimes only! dammit!) he was fun to be around, but Prussia had an ego bigger than Romano thought was possible. He was the kind of person that looked nice and was well aware of it. He'd been in quite a few relationships, but it always ended when the other felt that they needed a break from prolonged exposure to his personality.

Romano had the stature of a fifteen year old girl minus the chest, in other words, short and slim. From his hair, protruded a strange curl that he was very sensitive about. He made up for his size with his verbal abuse. He swore like a sailor, and he was proud of it. He enjoyed flirting with women, but he'd rarely allowed it to go further than a casual fling. If the other side wanted something more, he'd always make excuses. Romano felt too exposed and vulnerable, and a relationship couldn't work unless both sides were in agreement.

As the three energetic nations continued discussing England's love life, Romano allowed his overactive mind to wander. His eyes searched the room for his brother and narrowed dangerously when he saw the potato freak's face frighteningly near his fratello's.

"...I'm scared Gilbird will find a lover soon, and then he'd ditch-"

"Be right back," Romano interrupted, practically climbing over Prussia to leave the table. He sprinted towards his brother, scared he would be too late. The potato bastard's lips were far to close to Veneziano's. He could get tainted from potato germs! They would multiply in the air around him, and soon Romano himself would be infected! He swore the day he started craving wurst and potatoes would be the day he serenaded Russia.

It felt like everything was going in slow motion. In one last desperate leap, he inserted his hand between their faces and shoved Germany's face away. After making sure Germany's face was far enough away from Veneziano's, he took out his hand sanitizer and wiped his hand.

"Ve~ Fratello, why don't you eat with us?" Italy asked. Romano gave one disdainful look at Germany and decided it wouldn't be safe to leave Veneziano by himself with a potato freak. He sat himself on the bench, next to Italy.

"Yay! So I was thinking that we should take a road trip together! It would be so fun, and Germany and fratello could bond!"

"I'm not sure that would fit into our boss' schedules," Germany replied stiffly.

"Oh come on, potato sucker. It's not like they need us for anything. Just tell them the trip is a bonding session or something. World peace and shit." Romano didn't really care about the road trip or anything, but it annoyed him when Germany had a stick shoved so far up his ass that he vetoed anything that could even be remotely fun.

Before Germany had a change to reply, a loud voice interrupted them.

"A road trip, huh? The hero agrees!" America burst out as he intruded on their table. Romano smirked at Germany. Once America had an idea, he didn't relinquish it. "Oy, guys! The hero has an idea!" Stepping onto the table, the country shouted out to all the others in the room. "We should take a road trip together! We can learn about each other's cultures and not be boring. Who's in?"

There was a small silence before the rest of the room erupted into chaos. There were many countries that felt irritated at such short notice, and others that were merely surprised that America had had an idea that didn't involve giant robots.

Switzerland fired three consecutive shots into the air, silencing the room.

Please review and favorite!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews! Does anyone even read the AN? I cried tears of happiness for exactly three seconds when I saw that people had actually read my story. Then I decided to post another chapter as thanks. ^_^**

**I noticed I hadn't done a disclaimer yet, and that seems to be mandatory, so:**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the characters.**

**I thought this should be obvious, considering this is fanfiction. If I did own Hetalia, Iggychu and Prumano would be canon. We must broaden our horizons, and embrace not-so-popular shippings! There's a whole world out there! (literally) ha.**

* * *

Eventually the nations sorted themselves out, and several calls were made to each of their bosses. The bosses allowed them to go on this vacation. "Take a break, you deserve it," they said. (Or perhaps they just wanted to be rid of them for a while.)

However, another problem arose from this. It would be extremely inconvenient and un-green if each nation drove their own car. The fairies were protesting, or so England claimed. Not to mention, some of the nations were missing their vehicles, courtesy of the latest prank of the Bad Touch Trio. It was an unfortunate accident that had involved several nurse outfits, firecrackers, and a drunk Britannica Angel. Don't ask.

Nations that may or may not have liked each other, were going to need to be squeezed into a tight space together for hours at a time. Naturally, chaos appeared again when this conclusion was made.

"China will sit with me, da?" Russia smiled.

"No way, aru! Sit with your stalker!"

"Brother, dear, we can...bond..together on the trip, yes?" Belarus grabbed hold of his hand, and everyone else shuddered as they heard a cracking noise. "It will be very enjoyable." Russia whimpered and made a feeble attempt to pull his hand away.

"L-let's decide this in a calm and orderly fashion," England attempted to fix the strange situation. Watching Russia whimper was not something he needed to see twice in his lifetime.

France mocked him.

"You, orderly? _Mouton noir de l'Europe_ (Black sheep of Europe), who are you trying to convince?"

"Wanker!" As England and France proceeded to strangle each other, it was the most unlikely person that got everyone back on track.

"Well, awesome needs awesome with it, so the Bad Touch Trio will be traveling together!" Prussia declared.

"Prussia-san, there should be at least four people to a car, preferably five, if we are all to travel together. Those with less than five people should help carry the extra luggage," Japan mentally calculated the amount of nations that were going on the trip, and decided that this would work out. Probably.

In the end the groups were decided to be:

1) Allies (without France)

2) Axis+extra luggage

3) Nordics

4) Other Asians (Hong Kong, South Korea, Taiwan, Vietnam, and Thailand) "'Other Asians?' Not cool, da ze!"

5) Lithuania, Poland, Belgium, Netherlands, and Canada

6) Estonia, Latvia, Belarus, and Ukraine +extra luggage

7) Bad Touch Trio and Romano + extra luggage

8) Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Hungary, and Austria

Romano stared at the list in horror, a disturbed expression frozen on his face. "What."

"Romano~," Spain wheedled.

"No."

"But-"

"No. I am not sitting with you and your loser friends. I'll stay behind." Fifteen minutes later, Romano was cramped inside the back of a five person car with Prussia next to him, some luggage occupying the seat beside Prussia, France in shotgun, and Spain driving.

Half an hour into the ride, Prussia felt a sudden weight on his shoulder and looked down to see it occupied by Romano, who was completely asleep. He could have admired the way the sun highlighted Romano's chestnut hair or how his long his eyelashes were or how peaceful he looked if he were poetically inclined. However, Prussia was not one for artistic words, so he merely wondered at how cute Romano looked without a scowl on his face, his default expression.

"Kesesese~ Roma's fallen asleep," he pointed out to the other two.

"Romano falls asleep easily in cars," Spain had been Romano's guardian since they were young and knew most of the quirks of his former charge.

"Ohohohon, Prussia, want to switch spots with me?" France winked. "I'll take that Italian angel off of you," As if Romano had heard him, he twitched in his sleep and the expression on his face turned into one of disgust.

"I think he should stay as he is," Spain put in protectively. "Doesn't he look adorable?" he gushed. Then he did something that was most definitely Spain-ish. He took both hands off the wheel, twisted around in his seat and positioned himself in a more comfortable position to snap a picture of Romano's face.

The car swerved, and Romano's head snapped up. It collided with Prussia's chin and Prussia gave a very (manly!) shriek.

"Keep your eyes on the road, dumbass! Do you want us to die before we even get there?"

"We're nations, silly Romano. We can't die because of a little car crash," France laughed.

"You can't die if I cut off your dick and make you eat it," Romano retorted. The conversation ended soon after.

A few awkward seconds later (the Bad Touch Trio could never go long without noise), Spain brought up an important question.

"...Where are we going?"

…

…

…


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Your reviews are so kind. ;A; Does the Iggychu bother anyone? I can chain my inner fangirl down and keep most of it out if needed. I know how much it sucks to read a story and then BAM a wild hated-pairing appears!**

* * *

England shouted over the phone.

"Are you all idiots? Weren't you listening when I told everyone?"

"Inglaterra, stop screeching. It's hurting my ears."

"Oui, mon cher, it was an honest mistake," France defended his friends.

"Kesesese~ Your voice is so boring, it's impossible not to fall asleep when you're talking, so it wasn't really our fault."

"Yeah, so shut up, bastard."

"Stop ganging up on me! And that doesn't even make any sense, Romano! You gits called me for directions. Why would you want me to shut up?! Russia, stop bothering China!" The four in the car could practically feel Russia's murderous aura and a menacing "Kolkolkol" sounded from over the phone. Panicking, Romano hung up the phone.

"_What the fuck, Romano?_" Prussia asked.

"The vodka bastard's terrifying, that's what!" The accusing stares of the Bad Touch Trio had Romano reluctantly punching in the numbers to England's phone again.

"..."

"E-England? Uh..sorry?" Romano tried. England hung up, the click of the phone making a definite statement. The conversation was over before it had even started. He stared at the phone in his hand in disbelief.

"He hung up on me! _The fucking bastard hung up on me_!" Romano shrieked. "Why would he do that?_ Why_ would he do that?"

Prussia was in hysterics.

"You should've seen your face! I sure don't want to be England when you see him, haha!" He wiped tears from his eyes and ruffled Romano's hair, carefully avoiding the infamous curl. "Don't worry, I'm sure he'll calm down after a while."

"Or we could ask one of the others..." France suggested.

"I'll ask Belgium!" Spain took out his cell phone, and dialed her number. However, instead of Belgium's cheery voice, someone else had answered.

"Why are you calling my sister?" Netherlands gruff voice sounded through the speakers, and everyone's eyes widened. It was quite strange to expect a cheerful female voice and instead receive an accusing, overprotective older brother. Netherlands had never particularly liked Spain back when he was under his rule, and it was obvious that tensions were not much better now.

"N-nothing, sorry, bye!" With that, Spain hung up. A sheepish smile spread over his face, and he rubbed the back of neck.

At this point, Romano had no more fucks to give. Deciding to take it into his own hands, he texted England. The trick was to send something that England would be forced to reply to.

**FootballandTomatoes**: _Your eyebrows are bigger_ _than Prussia's ego_. _Saying they're big is like saying Germany kind of has a steel pole rather than a spine. Or if France is kind of touchy-feely. If you shaved them off, no one would be able to recognize you. By the way, where is our destination?_

**BritishGentleman:** _Globe Theatre. Now piss off.__**  
**_

_BritishGentleman has logged off._

"We're supposed to be heading for the Globe Theatre. Do any of you idiots know where that is?" The blank stares he received were enough to confirm what he'd already suspected. After a few minutes of trying to get GoogleMaps to work, he threw his phone at Prussia's head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You were the closest. I should've known something made by America wouldn't work properly," Romano complained. "What are we going to do now?"

* * *

Half an hour of flirting later, the four nations came back with an assorted collection of phone numbers, red hand prints on their faces, and a jumbled mix of directions to the Globe Theatre. The rest of the ride was made without much commotion. There were no wandering hands (mostly), and Romano had not snapped. All in all, it was rather surprising.

When they finally reached the Globe Theatre, England stomped over.

"You're three hours late, wankers," he snarled. "Luckily, I arranged with the people to allow us in tomorrow after 5:30, so we won't be bothered by tourists. Not that I did it for you! I just wanted everyone to know the true wonders of London without being harassed by crowds." He fidgeted a little. "A-anyway! Everyone's heading to this hotel now." After handing a slip of paper to Spain, he headed back towards the car holding the rest of the Allies.

"I knew you loved me!" France called out to him. Without looking back, England flipped him the bird.

The hotel was grand to say the least. The nations received quite a few odd stares as they walked in and made a ruckus in general. How could such a large group of people in their early twenties afford to live there?

"Wow, this hotel like totally needs some more pink. And the couches? Totally plush!" Poland went around making casual comments to the decorations in the hotel. Lithuania made noncommittal hums as he absentmindedly followed.

"Aniki! I missed you!" South Korea happily glomped China, his hands clasped across his chest.

"Aiyah, Korea! Don't make a fool of us. This is Engla - Opium's home and we're guests. Grow up!" A discreet blush from England followed this statement.

"Aww. Aniki's being a party pooper," Korea pouted, but he kept his hands to himself.

When England showed the lady at the front desk his ID, five suites were quickly rented out. It would be slightly claustrophobic, but it was nothing they couldn't manage. Or so they thought.

"Two people to a bed?!"


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Warnings: Where Prussia decides to question the gender of three fellow nations and some bonding occurs.**

* * *

"Well, yes, gits," England replied. "What? Does anyone want to offer to pay for their own room?" He sent a challenging stare to everyone. Even though they were nations, they still needed to pay for things, like everyone else. They earned money, and although their pay was higher than that of the average citizen, that was no excuse to squander it. "You can sleep on the floor if you have to, and since it makes no sense to have all of you bickering again, I have already split everyone into five groups through random methods. The other Allies were watching if you need any proof."

Before anyone could protest, Russia spoke up.

"I think that's a wonderful idea, da. I'm sure everyone agrees with me." The childish smile on his face only served to intimidate the rest of the nations further. Any noises of displeasure quickly died in their throats, and no more complaints were brought up.

England cleared his throat.

"As I was saying, the groups have already been formed. Luckily, the suites are right next to each other, so it should not be a problem. In Suite # 203 is myself, Romano, Prussia, Hungary, Poland, China, and..Canadia?" An awkward pause and an echo of "Who?" sounded before a very quiet, and very hesitant whisper had the confusion sorted out.

"I-I'm C-Canada."

"Who?" asked Kumapretzelcoolio the polar bear.

"Canada!" A slightly louder (but not by much) reply was made.

"Anywho, in Suite #204 are Switzerland, Austria, Liechtenstein, Latvia, Belgium, America, and Russia."

Not too surprisingly, America was not on the same page as England. "There's no way I'm rooming with that commie bastard!"

"Well, Америка, I am not exactly dying to sleep anywhere you. But it does not matter, for everyone will be one with Mother Russia someday."

"You can take your Mother Russia and shove it up your-"

"Will you bloody shut up, America?! These groups are final, and if you want to fight about it, you can do it somewhere else later. Just don't interrupt me," England was nearing his last straw if his furrowed eyebrows were anything to judge by. The rest of the groups were formed, and the nations agreed to gather in England's suite at 8:30. Prussia was quite amazed when he saw that the only response Romano had to the "Ve, I call sleeping with Germany~" outburst by Italy was a clenching of his fists and a narrowing of his eyes. He guessed that Romano was resigned to the fact that Italy and Germany would not be splitting up anytime soon, so he might as well get used to it.

Admittedly, not blowing your top because your brother is sleeping with his boyfriend was nothing ground-breaking, but it was still surprising.

"I wonder what Romano looks like when he smiles," Prussia mused. He had this circling around in his mind as he entered the elevator with the luggage and some other nations. He was so preoccupied with this new idea that he walked straight past their room and didn't notice until Romano dragged him back by the wrist, seeming none too pleased.

England was standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips.

"Well, there are two beds." Hungary, Canada, China, Prussia, and Romano stared back at him.

"Well, who's sleeping in them, bastard?" Romano asked. "Hungary should probably get a bed to herself since she's a lady."

"Aww, sweetie, that's so kind of you," Hungary smiled. Romano made no objections to the nickname because not only was she a lady, he'd seen what she could do with that frying pan of hers.

"Who's a lady? That man-woman?" Prussia scoffed. "If anyone's a lady, it would be China or that crossdresser."

"I'll show_ you_ who's a lady," China growled, but before he could use any of his ancient Chinese martial arts on the ex-nation, Hungary had already knocked him out with her trusty kitchen appliance.

Still beaming at Romano, she said, "But I have a better idea," There was a strange glint in her eyes as she decided this. "Why don't you and this..." Here she nudged Prussia with her toe disdainfully, "...scum...share a bed, and China and England will share one. Poland and I can sleep on the floor." Hungary's voice gave no room for debate, and Romano suddenly remembered Veneziano telling him about some of her strange fetishes.

Canada could do nothing but sigh.

"I guess I'll be sleeping on the floor, too."After the one-sided conversation was over, Romano had no choice but to drag Prussia towards their bed and dump him unceremoniously over the covers. He stood for a few minutes, surveying the room. When Poland poked his head through the door to declare that the rest of them were leaving for dinner, Romano waved him off. God forbid he ever eat English food. Romano had packed pasta for the trip like a good Italian, so there was no need to worry about dinner.

Moments after they departed, Prussia woke up, groaning.

"I'm gonna give that woman a piece of mind." He massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers before flopping back down on the bed. Flailing aimlessly like a fish out of water, he rolled around on the bed before falling off and ending up on the floor. Romano snorted.

"Idiot." Romano wasn't too worried about Prussia, after all, he was_ German_, and judging from Germany, they were cold-blooded potatoes, but Prussia did hang out with Spain and France. "Everyone's left for dinner, and you're sharing this bed with me. Here are the rules. This side of the bed is mine, this is yours. No crossing the line, no touching, no poking, and if it even looks like you're thinking about crossing to my side of the bed, I will…" Here Romano paused to think of a threat horrendous enough to deter Prussia. "...burn all your potatoes, so help me God."

"Please," Prussia scoffed, buffing his nails on his jacket and looking very self-assured. "Everyone wants a piece of me. You're just in denial." Romano huffed and looked away, deigning the statement too ridiculous to receive a reply.

A silence settled over the two. There was nothing to do until the rest of the nations came over at 8:30. The quiet was soon broken by the grumbling of Prussia's stomach, cueing dinner time.

"Pasta?" By silent agreement, it was decided that Romano would make pasta for both of them, and Prussia would clean up afterwards. They were quite the pair. As Romano shuffled around the mini kitchen, cutting the tomatoes and boiling the pasta, Prussia would follow behind, a dishrag wiping up the little drips of sauce and occasionally sampling the food. After the excruciating moments waiting for the meal to finish cooking, Romano ladled the pasta onto plates, and they settled down to eat.

As they ate, Prussia noticed that Romano continuously sent furtive glances his way, gauging his reaction to the food.

"It's really good," he said through a mouthful of pasta, another forkful already moving towards his mouth. Romano just grunted.

"Of course it is, bastard." But it was evident that the comment had relaxed him, and there was a shadow of a smile on his face.

Afterwards, they lounged on the couch, stomachs full and Romano's feet in Prussia's lap, surfing the television channels.

"You know, you're surprisingly calm now that we're alone," Prussia mentioned. There was no reply other than a shifting of Romano's body and a little exhalation through his mouth. Prussia took this as an invitation to continue.

"I mean, not once have you lost your temper. I'm surprised you haven't internally combusted yet."

"Bastard. I still can, you know?" There was no real malice in Romano's words, however, and he wiggled his toes. "Give me a foot massage."

"Demanding, huh?"

Romano smirked and repeated himself. "Give me a foot massage..._darling_."

"Darling? Wow, getting real intimate, aren't you?" Prussia sniggered. "Next thing I know, you'll be all over me." Romano gave him a feeble slap on the arm, and Prussia complied with his wishes. His long pale fingers dug into the flesh of Romano's foot, eliciting a groan from the half-nation.

"Lower…"

"Do you get pedicures or something?" Prussia asked. "Your feet are so...feminine." He poked at Romano's foot.

"Of course not! I'm a man!"

"Oh, I don't know about that. I mean, you do bitch a lot…" Prussia trailed off, sensing that there was danger ahead. He was absolutely correct. A well placed kick in an area that was particularly painful to males, nation or otherwise, left him doubled over on the couch, moaning. Romano, ignoring the other's pain, laughed, and Prussia's eyes widened in surprise.

Before he could say anything, though, the door was flung open and a horde of nations squeezed through.


	5. Chapter 5

"What the fuck? How'd you all get in?" Romano's question was answered when England's hand weakly waved at them from under the dogpile of nations.

"Hey, Norge, guess where my hand is?" Denmark was cut off mid-laugh by his own whimper when he was kicked in the balls, and Prussia winced in sympathy. Everyone's vital regions seemed to be under attack today.

"Hahahaha! Don't worry, the hero's here!" America moved to stand at the top of the other nations, causing many to curse and groan. Once the countries had placed themselves in a semi-orderly fashion in the living room of the suite, a discussion about what would be done tomorrow was started. Romano settled himself back onto the couch. He crossed his legs together on the leather upholstery, curling in on himself.

"Since not everyone was at the Globe Theatre when I first explained things to you, I'll do so again," England sent a pointed glance to four of the seated nations, where it was then ignored. "Tomorrow at 5:30, I will show you where Shakespeare's plays took place without the problem of tourists. If there are any complaints I'd like to hear them now," England looked around smugly, positive no one would have anything to say against Shakespeare, of all people. To Romano's growing horror, he noticed some of the other countries nodding to this, namely Germany and China. If he had to listen to England boast about his country for long periods of time at some old theatre, he was going to die of boredom. It seemed that America shared his sentiments.

"No way, Iggy! That's so boring!"

"Don't call me that, wanker! And what's wrong with Shakespeare?" he pouted. Cue blush from a certain Asian country.

"I agree, England. It will be very educational to learn about the literature of different nations," Germany nodded approvingly. "I see nothing wrong with that idea."

"Like hell there's no problem! This road trip was supposed to be fun. If we wanted to learn about your literature, we'd go to some library," Romano exclaimed.

"High five, older Italy!" America moved to give Romano a slap on the hand. Prussia didn't miss the faint blush on Romano's cheeks when he was referred to as 'Italy.' "It's a theater, so we should totally do some acting!"

"We...could do a talent show?" Canada whispered softly.

"We should do a talent show!" America cheered. A barely audible 'Jerk' was heard. The majority of the nations found this idea to be rather inviting, and a jumble of agreements were heard.

"Bollocks, America. You just have to do it your way, don't you?" England grumbled. "Fine. Do whatever you want. I'll tell the staff to change the date at the Globe Theatre to a week away." Once this was settled, the nations got up in groups of twos and threes, discussing who they were going to work with and what they were doing. Soon the only ones left in the room were England, Prussia, and Romano. Hungary had gone to visit Belgium, and Poland had skipped out of the room with Lithuania, rambling animatedly about the 'totally sweet ballet' they were going to do together. China was dragged off by an excited Taiwan, who was babbling something about dressing him up.

England had his head buried in his knees, his ankles crossed together. Romano twisted on the couch, so his head was touching the ground, blood rushing towards his brain.

"...You okay?" He didn't know much about the island nation, but he felt slightly guilty that he had protested against his idea. Only slightly. It really was a boring idea, after all.

"Nghh," was the only reply. Prussia slapped him on the back.

"Let's show those losers how awesome we are! Let's form a team, the three of us!"

"Who wants to be on a team with a potato like you?" Romano asked. "Idiot." He added as an afterthought.

"You do, of course. No one can resist the Awesome Me! Plus, it's payment for the foot massage from earlier," he insisted. Feeling woozy from hanging upside down, Romano tumbled off the couch and laid sprawled out on the ground.

"I guess there's no one else," he acknowledged. He could do a lot worse than Prussia and England. He prodded England with his index finger. "You fine with that?"

"I guess...I just wanted to show everyone my country. You were all supposed to have fun,"

"Aww, England, suck it up! We'll let you choose what to do for the talent show. But it has to be kickass," Prussia said. England seemed to perk up slightly at this.

"Then, rock. We're going to play music."

"Of course we are. Rock music, tea, and China. What else do you think about?" Romano grumbled. "And what song do you suppose we'll be playing?"

"Like you're much better, git. Tomatoes are the only thing going on in that head of yours," England replied, unperturbed. "I don't know. I was thinking Queen or Tears for Fears."

"Tears for Fears? Who's that?" Prussia wondered.

"They wrote 'Mad World.' It's a bloody 'awesome' song," England snarked. Romano could practically see the air quotes around the word 'awesome.'

"Isn't that by Gary Jules?" he asked. He'd heard the song before. It was nice, but not exactly the 'rock' he'd thought England had been implying. England mumbled something about 'bloody America stealing my songs.'

"No, that's just a cover. We're going to be doing the real thing."

"Who's going to do what?" Romano couldn't play any instruments, unless cymbals counted. He mentally berated himself for not attempting to learn any, while he was home alone, and Veneziano was at meetings. It's not like he had anything better to do.

"I'll do you," Prussia smirked, a teasing grin spreading across his face as he watched Romano's face turn several shades of pink, red, and finally purple.

"Bastard!" Before the southern half of Italy could kill a vital third of their team, England intervened.

"You're both bastards. Now, do either of you have any preferences? I'll play keyboard?"

"Sure, but I can't play any instruments." Romano stated dejectedly.

"Can you sing?"

"Decently, I suppose?" Romano threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I don't know! Just do it without me."

"No way, Roma! We're a team, and we'll stick together," Prussia chided. "Don't wimp out on us." He turned to England. "I can play piano, drums, saxophone, violin, cello, and the guitar. Oh, and the kazoo." Both Romano and England gaped at him.

"No way, bastard. How?"

"Well...there's a lot of free time when you're not a nation, let's just say," Prussia got a faraway look in his eyes, and he stared at the wall, fingers flexing. The planes of his face seemed to become sharper and the shadows darkened around the hollows. Sensing this was a sore spot (and one that had never been resolved) for the former military superpower, Romano steered the topic away.

The rest of the evening, they argued about the exact details to the performance. The rest of their roommates trickled in, and they abruptly stopped their conversation, wanting to keep it a surprise. The three nations agreed to spend the next day looking for the things they would need.

It was decided by rock, paper, scissors that Romano would wash first, and then Prussia. The Italian slipped on his long button-up shirt over his football shorts after a quick shower. If he could, he'd sleep naked, but Romano was smart enough to know that would be a very, very stupid thing to do. Prussia walked into the room, a towel wrapped around his hips and another one drying off the beads of water in his hair. The open door from the bathroom brought in warm, moist air and the sweet scent of shampoo. He bent over the suitcase on the ground, tossing clothes on the ground as he searched for his own sleepwear. After finding his wife-beater and a comfortable pair of sweats, he turned around.

"Do you mind?" Romano stared blankly at him.

"Uh...Mind what?"

"Well, I'm going to remove this towel and put some clothes on, but if you want to watch, that's fine, too."

"R-right, okay," he said, turning around so his back was facing the other nation. He fidgeted with his fingers, his ears catching the sound of rustling cloth against skin. The last time he'd slept with someone had been his brother, and even that had been a few years back. When they settled down on the bed, Romano kept his arms rigid by his side, eyes staring into the dark at the ceiling. Prussia had no such qualms. He easily occupied his side of the bed, just barely keeping within the boundaries.

"Mein Gott, you're stiff." Prussia tried to poke his cheek, but in the dark, he missed and barely avoided Romano's eye. "Relax."

"Keep your damn hands to yourself," Romano gritted out between clenched teeth. He chanted a mantra in his mind.

_Don't strangle him. It's more trouble than it's worth. Not to mention, he'd probably win. Don't strangle him. It's more trouble than it's worth. Don't strangle him..._

Prussia attempted to poke him again. This time his finger jabbed against Romano's jawline.

_For God's sake, don't strangle him! Don'tstranglehimdon'tstranglehim. Don't fucking strangle him!_

* * *

In the end, England and China did not share the same bed. England had gotten too flustered and had ended up sleeping on the floor, muttering curses to himself the whole time. However, when he woke up, he did notice that there was an extra blanket covering him and that the spot next to him was warm. It look a while for the red flush to leave his face, afterwards.

However, surprisingly, Prussia and Romano had been quite open with each other. Sometime during the night, the Italian had obviously gotten cold. In his sleep, he'd wrapped his arms around Prussia's shoulders and tucked his head into the crook of Prussia's neck, legs twining around the other's. It was unintentional. Romano made sure this fact was very clear. The entire suite, heck maybe the entire hotel, was woken to the pair's shrieks.

"Bastard! I thought we had an agreement!"

"I knew you couldn't stay away from me!" Prussia snickered. "I had no idea you were so...affectionate when you're sleeping." Various crashing noises sounded and _was that the door that Romano just ripped off the wall?_ Deciding that enough was enough, England barged into the room, demanding to know,

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you gits?"


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I have this inexplicable urge to make Romano sing Lady Gaga.**

* * *

"Matching outfits? That's so…" Romano searched for a word that would be able to accurately summarize his disdain for the idea.

"Awesome?" Prussia supplied.

"Yes, git, man up and take one for the team," England slapped him on the back, and Romano flinched.

The three nations were currently situated in a small cafe near the hotel. After apologizing for the damages caused to the suite, England had dragged the two nations away from the fuming hotel staff and tossed (not literally, but he might as well have, considering the force of his glare had reduced Romano to cowering. Prussia was too awesome to cower.) them both into a booth in the nearest coffeehouse.

Prussia picked at the faux leather seats and flicked little pieces of foam at England's head. He and Romano watched as it hit his forehead and bounced off, landing in his green tea, not bothering to hide their twin smirks. England glowered at them from under his eyebrows.

"Fine." Romano restarted the conversation. "But I get to choose what we wear since you two obviously have no idea what you're doing."

"What? What's wrong with my clothes?" Romano scrutinized Prussia's outfit, the crease between his eyebrows deepening at each rip in the other's ratty jeans.

"Everything."

" But-"

"Deal." England cut off Prussia mid-sentence, and the two nations shook hands on it, as if they were sealing an important political contract, rather than a petty fashion disagreement. They paid for their drinks and hailed a cab. The slow traffic bored Romano to death, and he rested his head on Prussia's shoulder.

"Are we there yet?" he moaned.

"Don't be such a child, Roma-Lovino." England sent a surreptitious glance towards the driver. "It's only been a few minutes."

"The light's green! Go, go, go! Don't slow down for the yellow, stomp down on the accelerator!" Startled by Romano's shouts, the cabbie raced past the other cars, weaving and twisting, leaving behind a symphony of honks in its wake. They arrived at the mall in record time, and the trio walked through the sliding doors after England tipped the driver generously.

They sauntered into the mall, swamped from all sides by every store imaginable, from bookstores to Victoria's Secret to stores that sold glasses. Prussia whistled.

"Busy place you've got here."

"Like you would know. You spend all your time in Germany's basement. That can't possibly be healthy," Romano scoffed.

"Not true," Prussia pouted. "I do lots of other awesome stuff, not that you would understand. Don't worry your pretty little brain about it." He took one look at Romano's skeptical expression and decided not to elaborate. For some reason, he didn't think Romano would appreciate the tactical sides to playing pranks on Austria and Hungary.

"Well, which way do we head now?" Romano asked England.

"I don't know."

"But this is your place!"

"It's not like I spend my days shopping. Unlike _some_ people, I have to go to meetings and help out my government."

Romano flinched, as if he had been slapped across the face.

"You're an ass," he snarled before spinning around and stomping in a random direction. Prussia looked at England, an eyebrow arched in disapproval.

"That was a low blow, man." England stared at him defiantly for a moment before wilting.

"Yes, I suppose." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I should probably apologize. Everything's just been so...ugh. Everyone's at my place, and I want to show them a good time, but I know I'm going to fail because nothing in London is as impressive as Rome or Paris or Berlin." His shoulders slumped. "And now I've just screwed everything up."

"Well, you've just got to fix it, don't you?" Taking England by the wrist, Prussia dragged him in the direction Romano went.

They eventually found South Italy in a bookstore, flipping through a romance novel, without really concentrating on the storyline. One hand was was holding up the book, the other propping up his head. Romano let out a derisive snort. Love at first sight? Sure. The guy was using her for her money, was she too blind to see that?

He felt rather bad for the heroine, despite her stupidity. Her younger sister outshined her in every way possible that the slightest sign of appreciation the boy had given her had caused her to fall head over heels in love. It reminded him of…

"Hey...Romano?" His head jerked up, and the novel fell to the floor with a muffled _thud_. The corners of his mouth dipped down when he saw his fellow nations.

"What do you want, bastard?" England looked down at his toes before being prodded by the elbow of a certain white-haired nation.

"Uh...I just wanted to...sayI'msorry?"

"What?"

"Sorry! I'm sorry for being an insufferable git and ruining this road trip, and it'd make me really happy if you stopped sulking."

After a short silence, Romano started to laugh. His laughter was infectious and unbridled, and soon an irate store manager kicked them out into the bustling rush of people outside.

"Why were you laughing?" England looked a little put out that his sincere apology had been a source of amusement for the Italian.

"No reason. You really are a piece of work, aren't you?" By now, Romano had calmed down and had assumed his default pouting expression. Prussia thought he might get whiplash from the array of emotions Romano was throwing at him.

They spent about an hour browsing the stores and eventually ended up with grey skinny jeans and a black T-shirt that had their country's flag portrayed across it diagonally. It took longer than necessary because Prussia was constantly holding up skimpy dresses to Romano and nodding his head with a mocking expression on his face.

Hanging out with the other nations was a lot less awkward and reserved than Romano had thought it would be. After finding everything they needed, they'd horsed around, taking their sweet time browsing the stores. At one point, Romano almost sprayed out the coffee he'd just bought when Prussia strutted down the shop in a pair of hot pink hooker boots. He really did spew the coffee all over himself when England casually suggested they actually buy three pairs for the talent show.

"Fuck, I liked this shirt!" Romano fumbled for the tissues on the front desk and hurriedly wiped down his black button-up. Glaring at the other two nations, who were laughing, he snatched up the new shirt and marched to the dressing rooms.

Once he was in one of the flimsy plastic cubicles and had stripped himself of the damp garment, he realized with horror that the flag on the shirt he picked was Prussian. He'd taken the wrong one. There was no way he was going to put the sullied button-up back on like an idiot, that was disgusting, and he couldn't very well walk back into the store half-naked, especially since the two bastards were already laughing at him. The less people that saw him in potato clothes the better, so the only option was to have the shirt come to him.

He pulled Prussia's shirt over his head before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

**FootballandTomatoes**: _Get your pale ass to these stalls, and bring my shirt with you._

**TheAwesomePrussia**: _Sure thing prinzessin ;)_

A few moments later, a sharp rapping came from the stall door, and Romano wrenched it open. Prussia's eyes roamed his body, and landed appraisingly on the bare patch of shoulder the oversized shirt revealed.

"Your shirt, sir." He held out the piece of clothing. "Would you like me to help you change?" A poorly concealed smirk stretched across his face. Romano lunged for the garment, but it was pulled away, kept just barely out of reach. Prussia tutted.

"Not yet, mister. You owe me." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Let's see...A simple 'Thank you, oh mighty Prussia the Awesome. I am not worthy to bask in your awesomeness.' should be sufficient."

"Like hell I'll say that," Romano gritted out. "Give me my fucking shirt!" An innocent smile was his only response. Growling, he tackled the unsuspecting nation.

He slammed his frame against the other's, and they both fell to the ground with a yelp. Most of the impact had been taken by Prussia, who was now pressed to the floor by an irritated Italian. There was some scuffling, and by some miracle, Romano managed to snatch his shirt back. He sat on Prussia's chest to prevent further shirt-napping. Stripping himself of Prussia's shirt, he flung it into said nation's face, ignoring the spluttering that followed.

Once safely clothed by a black background and his flag, he extracted himself from Prussia's lap.

"Ha." Romano childishly stuck his tongue out at Prussia. Prussia propped himself onto his elbows, and stared at him for a few long moments, hair disheveled. The silence seemed to stretch on forever. Against his will, heat started creeping up Romano's neck, and he suddenly realized the compromising position they'd been in a few seconds ago.

"W-What are you looking at, bastard?"

"You're so cute." The serious expression on Prussia's face didn't change while he said this. Romano thought his head would explode if any more blood rushed there. What a humiliating way to die.

"O-Of course I'm not. You must be mistaken with Veneziano." For a completely nonsensical moment, he dearly hoped this wasn't the case. Then he waved the notion off. Who cared if Prussia thought Romano's brother was cute. Certainly not him. Obviously. "S-Stupid!"

Prussia felt like something grievously wrong had just taken place. What did Romano's brother have to do with anything?

Romano ran back into the store, the red stain still visible on his face, and England looked up from where he was previously preoccupied by his phone.

"I've arranged with a studio a suitable time for us to practice the song. It probably won't take too much effort, but I requested for three hours. Is that alright with you?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Albino Potato is still in there, so drag him out, and we can leave."

"The git didn't come out with you?"

"No!" It came out a bit more defensively than Romano would've liked, and he crossed his arms across his chest and looked away.

"Okay, okay. No need to be so touchy."

A slightly tense, but not quite tense (it was only one-sided, mostly), atmosphere greeted the three nations when they gathered together. England was rather confused right now. Something had obviously happened back in the changing rooms. He willed himself not to let his mind wander down the gutter. He sent a text to France when the other two weren't paying attention.

The studio room was simple, a drum set, guitar, and microphone were the only things inside, other than a couple of chairs.

"Well, let's get started."


	7. Chapter 7

It was evident that Romano could sing, and sing well. Which Prussia supposed should have been obvious, considering Italian operas and all. Not that he sounded like an opera singer. He didn't have the right frame for it, and the thought of small, little Romano singing like that brought a smirk to his face. Hmm, it must have been a Grandpa Rome thing.

Anyway, he digressed. The point was, Romano had a low smooth voice that fit with the song, so what exactly was the problem here?

"These lyrics are absolute shit." Ahh, that was it.

"I don't see what's wrong with it, Romano." England glared at the Italian, knuckles tightening around the bass.

"It's so depressing. You really want to sing this at a talent show?"

"Well-"

"What, is this a funeral? A hardcore emo-bonding session?" South Italy mowed right over England's objections. "And what's with this upbeat background music?!"

"If you can't appreci-"

"It gives me hives." Prussia smirked at their spat, content to watch them argue.

"What the bloody hell do you want to sing then?" Romano had no reply to that, and Prussia finally decided to jump in and awe them with his idea.

"How about 'Everybody Loves Me'?"

"The hell is that?" Instead of replying, Prussia began peeling off his jacket.

"_Well, Hell sees her shadow in my backseat, and her friends are standing right in front of me, world wide from the Cimmaron to Turkey, open up sayin', 'Everybody loves me!'…_~" His fingers started unfastening the top few buttons on his shirt.

"Okay, back the fuck up, Prussia." Romano's hands were held in front of his face. England cackled.

"You're so _sexy_, Prussia."

"I know, right? I'm totally sexy, right, Romano?" Prussia eyed the other nation with a cocky look.

"Ugh, you're an idiot." He took a deep breath. "Can we just continue?"

"Not until you admit I'm a sexy beast."

Romano groaned. "England?"

"You dug yourself into this hole, wanker," England laughed. "Tell the stud he's sexy."

Romano walked over to a wall and banged his forehead against it. He mumbled something.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of my sexiness."

Romano had a few ideas where he could shove his sexiness. "Fine. You're sexy, even though you resemble a half-baked potato and smell like one, too, asshole."

Prussia snorted. "Good enough." He picked up his drum sticks. "For now. Didn't know you were into that. So are we singing Everybody Loves Me?"

The other two shrugged.

"Whatever you want. It sure suits your bloated ego."

"I have no objections." The three of them listened to the song on Prussia's smartphone, scrolling through lyrics and sheet music.

After they'd practised till they were relatively comfortable with the song, Prussia started acting up. While playing, he tossed his drumsticks up in the air and twirled them around, somehow keeping on beat at the same time. At one point he even threw it up, balancing one of the drumsticks on his worn out Converse as he played with one hand.

Seeing this, England smirked, not to be outdone. He snapped out consecutive chords, arms windmilling. After, he lifted his guitar behind his head, strumming at the strings and even going so far as to wink at both Romano and Prussia.

"Pretentious show-offs," Romano muttered.

"Come on, Romano! It's your turn!" England shouted. Prussia nodded, giving him a thumbs-up.

Hesitating for a few moments, he kept his mouth shut before opening it and trilling out a few lines of the song in a ridiculously high falsetto. The Italian managed to keep it on tune through sheer force of will.

"'_Cause you don't have to make a sound, when they got what you need make you say, Oh my, feels just like I don't try, look so good, I might die, Everybody Loves Me!_~"

There was a beat of silence afterwards.

"Holy. Fuck. That's unnatural." Prussia gaped. "That was awesome. Is it even possible for a man to sing that high?"

"Eunuchs can, I believe," England added. "You haven't been castrated, have you, Romano?"

"What?!" Romano spluttered. "Of course not! Do you want me to cut off _your_ dick?"

Before anyone could reply, the door was flung open and Korea and Taiwan marched in, dragging China and Hong Kong behind them.

"Our turn, da ze! We're going to win the talent show because winning originated in Korea!" The three Europeans were quickly ushered to the door and left on the curb. England turned to the other two.

"I have to make some arrangements, so if you two are alright, I'll leave now." With that, he left, leaving Prussia and Romano alone.

Romano suddenly felt a firm grip around his wrist and the jarring sensation of his arm being pulled out of its socket.

"Come on, Roma! We're going to cure your aversion to potatoes," Prussia said, dragging the other behind him. Romano had to jog slightly to keep up with his long strides.

"Hey, slow down, idiot! We don't need to cure anything, and will you let go of my hand?" He could feel his arm numbing from lack of blood flow.

The two of them stumbled into a nearby convenience store where Prussia began stuffing as many potato chips from the racks into Romano's arms as he could. After emptying a whole counter, Prussia inspected the food in his partner's overflowing grip. That should be enough for now. Romano's face was scrunched up in concentration as he struggled not to let anything fall before he realized, fuck it, why was he even doing this?

Thus, he let go and allowed most of the bags of junk food to fall to the ground.

"I'm not eating any of this, so you better hold it yourself."

"No way! If we're hanging out, we have to build up your tolerance towards potatoes."

Eventually they compromised, and a few hand-picked tomatoes were added to the pile. In Romano's opinion, the tomatoes were a disgrace to the tomato family, but really, this was England, and one couldn't afford to be too picky.

The cashier checked out their goods with a practiced eye, placing them in plastic bags and dismissed them with a bored, "Thank you, Roderich. Come by Budgens again."

Outside the supermarket, Romano turned towards Prussia.

"Where to now, _Roderich_?" Prussia had the decency to look abashed. He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck.

"Uh, there was this whole thing about me painting his piano red, because that's a much awesomer color than black, but he was being a baby about it," he began.

"Wow, really," Romano interrupted sarcastically.

"Yeah, I know, right? He's got a stick shoved up his ass or something. Anyway, he bitched about it to Hungary and Swissy so _both_ the psychos were after me. And one thing just led to another…" he trailed off. Romano wrinkled his nose. Prussia couldn't help but think that looked adorable.

"Switzerland _and_ Hungary? That's harsh." A rain drop suddenly splattered onto his left cheek, followed by another and another and another. "What the actual fuck? It was sunny a second ago!"

"Hmm, must be why England has so many mood swings all the time." The rain was starting to become heavier, fat, cold droplets bursting against sun-warmed hair and skin. "Hey, let's head back into the store. There might be some umbrellas or something."

"Not my money," and after a few moments, "...or yours." Prussia rolled his eyes.

"Come on."

Back in the store, one of the employees directed them to a corner that was supposed to have the umbrellas. A small black bin greeted them. Peeking inside, Romano saw a small pink umbrella that was generously decorated with hundreds of tiny red hearts and chicks.

"Uh…" No way. There was no way in hell he was going to share an umbrella, especially one like that, with Prussia. No way. He'd eat a potato first. Hell would grow cold first. Behind him, there was the crinkling of a chip bag and then a crisp is pushed between his lips and into his mouth. It felt like the offending finger lingered for a second too long, and the only thing that Romano could think was whether or not Prussia had washed his hands.

"See, it wasn't so bad, was it?" He finally swallowed without tasting anything and turned to see the blond stuffing his own mouth with a handful of chips.

"Uh…" If Romano had the ability to kick himself just then, he would've.

"How's the umbrella?" Prussia leaned over him and picked it up, an expression of delight on his face.

"It's so cute!" He whacked Romano in the butt with it. "Let's buy it," he declared and headed towards the cash register.

Outside, the rain was steadily getting heavier and most of the pedestrians had cleared out. The road was jammed, angry honks filling the air every so often.

"Looks like we have to walk. It's not that far anyway."

Romano allowed himself to be herded down the sidewalk, and he definitely did not freak out when Prussia casually looped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into the embrace _because he was cold, dammit_, and instead of concentrating on that, he focused on the damp that was seeping through his shoes and into his feet.

About twenty minutes later they arrived back at the hotel where they were greeted by Spain and France.

"What an interesting choice for an umbrella, _mon ami_. Is there something you're not telling us?" France looked at them with raised eyebrows, a vaguely impressed expression on his face.

Spain looked at the both of them with an unfamiliar expression lingering on his face. Linking his arms with Prussia and Romano, he smiled.

"I think we need to have a little talk."


End file.
